The Lost Nightingale
by GoddamnWrite
Summary: Kurt Hummel is missing in Tinseltown. And Blaine Anderson is on the case. [1940's noir-style AU]
1. Chapter 1

**The Lost Nightingale  
Chapter 1**

Finn Hudson was a tall streak of handsome in the right light. And my office had dimmers. He was doing just fine.

"He's been missing for about three months, Mr. Anderson." He picked up a pen from my desk and fiddled with the tip. Satisfied it was nothing more than a writing implement, he put it back down with a sigh.

"Blaine, please." I said, tapping at the wood. The sound seemed to startle him and he stared at my fingers like they knew secrets.

"Blaine. Yeah. Burt, that's my step-father, was never happy about him coming out here, but Kurt was insistent." He had moved onto a stapler now, giving it little bursts of clicks. "He wanted to sing."

"He came to Los Angeles for fame?" I asked but it was really a statement. That's all anyone came to this town for anymore.

"Yeah, I guess so." He put the stapler down and began to drum at his knees in a jerky beat. "He's been singing since he was a kid. He wanted to be like that Andy Hardy or something." Finn took a photograph from his jacket pocket and pushed it across the desk. "This is Kurt."

Cute kid. Bright eyes. Bright face. It was a nice picture. I liked looking at it.

"When the letters stopped coming, Burt got worried. We tried calling but the number was disconnected. I came out here about a month ago." He made a clasping motion with his hand and squared his jaw. "We just want him back Mr... I mean Blaine. And we'll pay anything."

"Well. We'll get to that. What about you? Where are you staying?"

"I'm living at McKinley?" It was a question, alright. Not exactly a place you'd refer to as living.

"McKinley's a block away and you've been here a month. Either you're a slow walker, or I'm not the first private detective you've seen."

"No, no. You're not. You were recommended to me. By the last one."

"Who? I must send him a thank you card. Sending business my way like this?"

"Puckerman? On south side. He said I should come to you. He said there were places he wouldn't sink to. That _you_would." Hudson blushed at this, his eyes downcast and coy. An out of towner, for sure.

"It must be quite a depth if Puckerman doesn't want it. What's the story here?"

"Kurt... is. Well, he has an _alternative _lifestyle."

"Like a bat?"

"I'm... sorry?" His brows knitted together in confusion. It didn't look like a particularly new expression to him.

I sighed. "Mr. Hudson, whatever you're chewing looks bitter. Spit it out."

"He's homosexual!" The words leapt from his lips and then cringed away from the light. "That's what I meant."

"Ah," I said, mainly for something to be saying.

For a moment we sat in a silence that stretched and pulsated thickly in the small room. He broke it first with a sharp braying cough. I stood up and went to the tap, I poured him a cup of water and handed him it. He inhaled it in one go.

"It's illegal in England, you know?"

"There's a lot of water between here and there, Mr. Hudson." I sat back down and folded my hands over each other. "I assume you think that due to my _own _alternative lifestyle, I'll be able to seek out your brother quicker?"

"Puckerman said that you knew haunts? Joints he may have got familiar with? He said you were one of the best."

I gave a slight nod and let that ride. Puckerman had clearly upset the apple cart in his investigation. He wasn't the most sensitive in our business. This was his attempt at redemption.

"I'll take the case, Mr Hudson. Provided you like my rates. But I need to know everything."

I glanced back down at the photograph and felt a chill in my throat. The image was black and white but it filled my mind with colour. I pushed it away.

"Tell me about your brother."

* * *

I crossed the street and made my way into the bar. Empty. I'd hit rush hour

There was only place to start in Los Angeles if you wanted information and _Cheerios_ was it. More specifically the owner.

My feet sounded out neatly on the floor, and I smiled at the blonde behind the bar. An ice queen with a sweet rose mouth and the eyes of an angel. If I had been another type of man my head would have spun. I gave my skull a gentle tap with my knuckles. It wasn't going anywhere.

"What can I get you?" She asked, her face set in boredom. It was a template. I wagered it wasn't the only one she had.

"The manager, please," I said politely.

"She's busy," the blonde replied, her voice fussy and cold. "I can pass on a message?"

I smiled. It was my warmest. My most charming. But the ice didn't melt. "Tell her it's Blaine Anderson. And then tell her not to run. Not in heels."

Santana Lopez didn't run. But she did come straight out. She came towards me with a jaunt like a nervous tight rope walker. On any other woman that face would have withered a lesser man to the soul. On Santana? That's just how you knew she liked you.

"Blaine Anderson. Where's the rest of you?"

"Short jokes already? Cute."

"I can be cuter?"

"I haven't the time and you haven't the energy." I placed the picture on the bar, my finger nail tracing Kurt Hummel's crown. "I'm looking for a boy."

She grinned. That one was too easy and we both knew it. She left it to grow cold and shrivel away. "What makes you think I'd know where to find one?"

"In this town? You know where to find everything."

Her gaze fell down and landed on the photograph. A small suck of breath and then recognition leapt into her eyes, saw me peeking and leapt back out.

"I don't know him. But you look like you want to. Your eyes are all big and hungry. You look like Bette Davis, but less butch."

"Pity you can't you can't _act_like her. Come on. You've seen the kid before. Where?"

She crossed her arms, fingers casually playing with the gold chain at her throat. "Okay. I've seen the _picture_before. Not the kid. There was a dick in here last week. Same pretty boy. Same question. Different manner."

"And what did you tell him?"

"Nothing. He didn't have your lovely build." Her laughing face turned sour and she stared over my shoulder. To the stage. I followed her gaze to a lovely brunette singing a sweet little Berlin number, her eyes closed, her fists clenched. She meant every word.

"She's good," I offered, but Santana didn't want it.

"She's _okay_."

"She'll go far," I teased. "To the top."

"And it won't be far enough. She's new in town. She'll learn."

"They always do. But you could help her?"

"And make her soft?" Santana scoffed. "This town makes you or breaks you. I owe it to her to let her find out for herself."

I tutted. "Casting couch blues?"

"I hate men."

"You don't hate me?"

"You don't count."

I threw her a look and she caught it in her teeth. "You know what I mean. Although it _is _a shame. I often wish you'd climb over into my garden."

"They do say it's greener there."

"There's nothing about me that's green." She leaned forward. "But, Blaine, you should taste the _dew_."

My eyebrows ran into my hairline and she laughed. It always pleased her to make me blush. I didn't blush easy. "How about you point me in a direction, Santana? For old times sake. The kid's got a family worried about him."

That got her. "You're not going to like it." She sighed. "_The Fury_."

"That dive? Karofsky's place?" My mouth went dry. "Why there?"

"That friend of yours that used to be on the force with you? He works the door now. Guess the gutter wasn't low enough."

"Sam? Sam is working for Karofsky?"

She rolled her eyes damn near out her head and inspected her nails. They were as sharp as her mind. "He was in here about two months ago. He has a thing for my girl." She shot a look at the blonde, busy cleaning glasses and pretending not to listen. "He drinks too much and talks too much. You can guess the rest..."

"He mentioned this Kurt?"

"Not by name. But he said that a new kid had started. A fresh milk dud just like in this." She pushed the picture back to me. "That it wasn't fair. That all the kid had wanted to do was sing. I got the feeling something had gone down and it wasn't something good." She bit her lip. "It might not be your boy?"

"And it might be." I took the picture and tucked back in my jacket. Over my heart. "If what you say is right than the kid is mixed up with Karofsky and that only leads to dutch."

"Well, you know the way," she smiled as cold as an attic in winter. "Why don't you stay awhile? Avoid the long sleep for just that bit longer? I'll have Rachel sing you another number. Something you can really swing to?"

"My dance card is full." I put my hat on my head and gave the rim a tap. "And I promised the next one to Karofsky."

* * *

Light was yawning into dark and the vampires were out in full flow. Bundling my coat around me, I walked up to The Fury. It was a cheap little place for cheap little people. God knows how a kid like Hummel had ended up here. Karofsky's minions stood guard outside the door, letting in the dames they could only imagine being with. In another life Sam would still have been the dishcloth at the precinct, but at least he was a dishcloth with a wife and kid. Like I said, another life.

He saw me first and for a moment his face broke into a grin. Then the memories came rushing back. The smile died. "Blaine," he said, pressing a hand to my chest. "You can't go in there."

"Not at the moment, no. You appear to be blocking the way."

"You know what I mean," he sighed and looked at the large boy next to him, "It's okay, Azimio. I know this guy."

"My mouth is dry and my legs are knocking, how about you let me remedy that inside?"

"You don't drink and the entertainment isn't up to your standard. I'm doing you a favour."

"I'm not looking for MGM Technicolour, Sam. Just a place to rest my getaway sticks."

"Whatever you're really here for," his voice dropped low and a plea crawled into it. "Let it go."

I decided to play it straight. "Hummel." It was like shooting a bullet in a nunnery. "I'm looking for Kurt Hummel."

Sam's face paled and his Adam's apple struggled to escape from his skin. "Don't know the name."

"Then you won't mind me going in there and asking a few questions? That should be just dandy, right?" I made as if to move past him and he sidestepped in front of me. "There's that blockage again. You should look into that."

"I said no, Blaine. If we were ever friends..." Shame came into his eyes and the sentence retreated. "No."

"Let the boy in, Sam." A voice said from behind me. I'd have known it anywhere. I'd heard it in enough court rooms. I'd heard it whoop and hollar at enough _not guilty _verdicts. "Anderson."

"Karofsky." I nodded and smiled at the girl at his side. She gave a shy one back and pressed her face against his arm. The same arm that had put the force into his fist, and delivered that fetching bruise on her cheekbone no doubt.

"You want to come inside? We'll jar." Karofsky placed a clammy hand on my shoulder and gave a squeeze. It wasn't a question.

We entered the club and the contrast to Cheerios was overwhelming. Except even Santana wouldn't want _this_type of custom. On stage the spotlight caressed a young woman like an over eager lover. She was singing a Peggy Lee song like it had only ever been on loan.

"That's Mercedes Jones," Karofsky said, thumbing over his shoulder. "My newest star." He dropped into a seat and gestured to me and the girl to follow suit. I pulled out a chair for her and Karofsky gave a snort. "Don't treat her like a lady, Blaine. You wouldn't know what to do with one." He gave a dry laugh. "And Tina may develop a liking for it. I'd hate to disappoint her."

Karofsky was a dreamboat, for sure.

"Why don't we cut right to it?" I said waving a no to an enquiring waitress. "Just between us girls in the powder room. Where's Kurt Hummel?"

The muscles twitched in his cheeks, and his hand, thrown casually around his girl's shoulders, clenched into a fist. Once. Twice. And relaxed.

"Ain't no one here by that name, bub." He smiled, slow and sluggish. "Sorry to disappoint."

"There isn't at the moment, I'm sure. But there was, wasn't there?" The girl, Tina, met my eyes by accident and looked to the floor quickly. "What happened to him, Karofsky?"

"I'm starting to think you're sweet on me, Anderson. Seems you're always dogging my shadow."

"You play so hard to get. I can't resist."

"Let this one slide, Anderson. You need to learn when to keep out of other people's business."

"I can't help it. I'm kind of cute like that."

I pushed Hummel's picture across the table, mindful of the previous owner's spillage. He tried to keep his eyes on mine but the urge was too strong. He looked down. He looked down for some time.

I frowned. Karofsky's face was full of an emotion I could only attribute to regret. It didn't belong on him. Not on that face.

"You're leaving." Karofsky said in a low voice. "You're leaving now."

"But I just got here. And I'm soaking up the atmosphere." Arms found their way under mine and I was being dragged to my feet. "Then again maybe some air would do me good?"

Karofsky placed his hand on the photograph and slid it towards him. It disappeared from the table and into his pocket. "Do you mind if I have this?"

I didn't get to voice my opinion on the matter. Karofsky's goon was rapidly showing me the exit. Head first.

I hit the ground and the ground hit back. A foot rolled me over and I found myself staring up into the sneering face of Azimo.

"You ain't wanted round here, Anderson. Go back up town. This ain't no place for nice boys like you." He gave a savage kick to my hip for good luck and then moseyed on back to the club, a low whistle under his breath. A man happy in his work. It was a joy to see.

I lay there for awhile feeling lazier than Norma Shearer's eye. But staring at the sky wasn't going to find me my boy. Not now I knew I was onto something. I stood up and dusted myself down. They could keep the hat. I'd be back for it soon enough.

"Hey, you!" A woman called from behind in a sharp hiss. I gave a spin on my heel. Mercedes Jones. "Is it true you're looking for Nightingale?" I tilted my head and she gave a soft sad smile. "Kurt. Are you looking for Kurt?"

I looked behind her and satisfied myself that no one was listening. "Yes, you got the headline right." I approached her slowly and realized a slow shake was vibrating through her body. I placed a hand to her shoulder and she touched over it with her own. "Do you know where he is, Ms Jones?" I asked gently.

She looked up at me with watery eyes. "I think he saw something he shouldn't have." A moan of pain tumbled from her mouth. "And I think he got killed for it."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Lost Nightingale  
Chapter 2**

"Ms. Jones," I stood up as she approached the table. Three nights later and here I was back at Santana's. But we weren't here for the sweet fizz.

She allowed me to remove her linen jacket and took the seat opposite me in the booth. She pulled off a pair of white pigskin gloves. "Mr. Anderson."

"Blaine, please." I told her, wrapping her coat over my arm, the night's chill ghosting through my sleeve to my skin.

"And call me Mercedes." She smiled but it was weaker than an English coffee. Her eyes were tired. Her eyes were sad. "I haven't got long. Karofsky will be back soon."

"Then let's not waste it." I gave the bar a once over as I sat down. Two other patrons. Both too far away to hear anything. And the blonde waitress. I was satisfied. "What did you want to tell me the other night? Why do you think Hummel is dead?"

"Kurt started at _The Fury_ a little over two months ago. Just after me. He's nice kid. Was." She stared down at her hands but they had no answers. "He was good. Lovely voice. It was Karofsky's idea to call him Nightingale. Said it would bring in the art set. You could say that he had an invested _interest_in Kurt."

"An interest?"

"More than the rest of us, I mean. He was always at Kurt. Nothing Kurt could do was right. He'd work Kurt until his voice was hoarse and still want it again. Better. Louder. More. Sometimes he'd have Kurt so tired he'd just go to sleep on the floor of the changing room at the end of a shift."

I slipped into the role of Devil's Advocate. "Maybe he's just a perfectionist?"

"Or maybe he liked Kurt that bit too much?"

I frowned. "What aren't you telling me, Mercedes?"

She chewed the inside of her cheek and I saw a decision slide into place in her eyes. "He kissed him."

"Kurt kissed Karofsky?"

"No, the other way round."

I didn't have anything to say to that. Luckily she had more.

"One night he kept Kurt back late. We never thought anything of it. He always did. But the day after he was worse than ever before. Shoving Kurt around and calling him names? Kurt finally snapped and stormed out of the club. Later that night he told me that Karofsky had made a pass and that Kurt had rejected him."

I scooped from jaw up from my ankles and sat back in my seat. Karofsky was _one of the boys_, too? This was getting to be quite an epidemic.

"How long after this did Kurt go missing?"

"About two weeks? Yes, I think it was that. Karofsky finally began to let Kurt be. Kept his distance. And Kurt was happy. Well, happier. He was singing, he was in Los Angeles. He was having fun. Then Karofsky asked him to stay back again."

"Because it worked so well the last time?"

"I tried to get him to beg off. Honest, I did. But he was adamant. Said he could handle him. Said it would be fine." A bitter laugh. "This time Kurt turned up at my place in the early hours. He was roughed up. Shaking like a leaf and sobbing."

Under the table my hand made a fist, the nails digging into my palm.

"He said we had to go. Had to pack right away. He wouldn't say why. Just told me to meet him at the train station in two hours. That we were getting the next train to New York."

"And you were just going to go? Just like that? Without even knowing why?"

"I didn't need to know why when it came to Kurt. He was my friend. I waited at the station but he never turned up. They got to him first."

"Could he have gone without you?"

"No." It was said as gentle as a breeze but with the impact of a tornado. "I waited at that station for two hours, Blaine. I watched that New York train come and go. He never showed."

"And then?" Because her story wasn't over. We had a few stops yet.

"I went to his apartment." She named the street and I gave a nod. I knew it. "It had been stripped. And I mean stripped. They damn near took the wallpaper." She stared at me hard. "They wanted it to look like Kurt Hummel never came to this two bit town."

My finger traced the rim of my glass. "The _"they"_you keep mentioning?"

She bit her lip and cast an eye round the bar. "Wait. Who's that girl?"

I turned and my eyes bumped into the Berlin singer. She watched us with an unashamed hungry gaze. "Rachel, I believe." I shrugged. "She sings."

"She seems pretty interested in us."

"She can't hear. Unless she's George Arliss, I'm not worried."

Mercedes gave me a strange a look. I didn't mind. I had quite a collection. "Karofsky," she sighed. "I think it was him and his goons. Azimio and Sam. They are the ones he trusts the most."

"If you think this, why are you still there? Earning them a buck?"

"I was waiting for a chance to get them." She stood up and eased out of the booth. "I was waiting for _you_, Blaine." She slipped her gloves back on as I rose. I helped her into the coat and pressed my hand to the small of her back. "Find out what happened to him. And then nail Karofsky to the wall."

"This is real life, doll. And there's no Hays Code."

"I know that." She wrapped her coat tight around her. "But I have a good feeling about you."

"I'll find out what happened, Mercedes. I promise you that at the least." She nodded and smiled again. It was stronger this time.

"Get them for me, Blaine." She turned and walked away slowly. Watching her pass through the doors, I sat back down. I held my palm up. I studied the indents of my nails. I'd drawn blood.

"Hello!" Our admirer sat down opposite me, a smile so wide it was knocking on the ceiling for room. "Rachel Berry." She stuck out a dainty hand. Slowly mine joined it and the two danced together for a moment. "That was Mercedes Jones."

I raised an eyebrow. I didn't say anything.

"She sings in _The Fury_."

I still didn't say anything.

"She's good." She leant forward and her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "But I'm better."

"I'm pleased for you." Not saying anything was getting old. "Now, if you'll excuse me." I stood up and smoothed down my lapels.

"Wait! Don't you want to hear me sing?" She grabbed at my wrist and gave a tug. It wasn't gentle. "My range is flawless, my style exemplary and my voice has been compared to that of a young Jo Stafford. Only, I assure you, _I_have more control."

"I'm sorry Ms...?"

"Berry." She nodded. "Rachel Berry. I know you're scouting. I know you think you've found something in Mercedes Jones, but just let me convince you that your success lies with me. I'll sing anything you want." Her fingers twinkled softly up my arm and she cast her eyes to the floor shyly. _"Do_anything you want."

I smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, sister, but this song isn't in your key." Her eyes widened. "I'm not an agent, Ms. Berry. I'm a private detective." Her hand spat me out and she shrank back like I was catching.

"And you let me go on like that?" She climbed out the booth. "Real nice guy! Real swell!"

I held up my hands in mock surrender. "You let _yourself _go on like that. Come on now. Don't be sore. It was just a misunderstanding."

"I'm sick of this town. I'm sick of the people." She flung up her hands and gave a comical stomp of her foot. "And I'm sick of_this_place!"

I laughed. "Yet they all speak so highly of you."

Her eyes watered. "I don't like your tone."

"Would you like me to lower the pitch?"

She didn't stick around for a rebuttal.

"You just make friends where-ever you go, don't you?" Santana's waitress said with a smile. There'd been a thaw since I'd been here last. "Anderson, is it?"

"Blaine," I corrected. "You can call me Blaine."

She nodded and began to clear the table, wiping away the remains of the night. "Speaking of names," she said, wiping hard at a stubborn stain that brought her nearer. "Jesse St James."

"I'm sorry? I didn't catch that?"

She looked up at me from under her lashes, if she fluttered them just right she'd fly away. "Too bad, I'm not throwing it again." She left me standing. I opened my mouth to call her back but she was already gone. Three women in one night. Mother would be pleased.

I made my way out, my hands in my pockets and my head in the rafters. What was it about this case that was getting me so worked up? Everything was pointing towards the kid wearing a pair of cement slippers, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was out there. _Alive._And for once I honestly didn't know if that was my gut instinct or wishful thinking. A passing merry drunk barged into my shoulder, knocking me back and breaking my thoughts. A muttered apology and then they were gone.

They had the right idea. I made my way home.

* * *

I woke up to a rapping at my door. I opened my eyes and gave a groan. The couch. I hadn't even made it to my bed this time. But the dreams found me no matter where I went. Karofsky may have the picture, but I didn't need it. Someone had painted the image to the inside of my eye lids.

I sat up and ran a hand through my hair, looking at the clock. Three hours. It was practically a lie in. The knocking came again. Harder. I opened my sideboard drawer and pulled out the roscoe. I checked the bullets. They were ready.

"Blaine! Open up!" Sam called through the wood. "I know you're in there." I tucked the Colt in the back of my pants, crossed the room and swung open the door. I took a surprised step back and he took a shaky step forward. He was drunk.

"I need... I need to talk to you," he stammered. "About the kid."

I slung an arm under his and helped him into the apartment. "So talk." I said, dropping him onto the couch as gently as a whale on a swing. I eased the gun out and returned it to the sideboard. I didn't think I'd be needing it when he was in this state.

"Get me a drink?" Sam asked, sinking into the cushions. "Bourbon?"

"I'll get you some java. And that's all I'll get you."

"Just one lousy bottle! That's all. One bottle never hurt anyone."

"Tell that to Fatty Arbuckle." I wiped a hand down my face. It didn't wipe away the tiredness. I sat down next to him. "Okay, you want to talk? Talk."

He grumbled some more about the drink and then grabbed tightly at his hair, clenching it into vicious little tufts. It had once being vibrant and blonde. Now it was just something to keep a comb busy. "He was a kid, you know? Sassy thing. Had a mouth on him, for sure, but deep down he wasn't so bad. Not really." He keeled over and for a moment I worried about my carpet. The landlord hated me enough. He rallied through. "He was just _a kid."_

"What did you do, Sam?"

"We got the call. My shift was over and I was in bed. It was Karofsky. He gave me the address and told me to meet Azimio there. Told us to sweep it. He didn't tell us it was Kurt. But there were all these pictures of his family and that, you know?"

Mercedes had been right. Hopefully there was something she was still wrong about.

"What happened to Hummel?" I asked my mouth dry. "Do you know?"

"He's dead." His words were cold. Missing their _own_heartbeat. "He has to be."

"Did you get that in writing?" I stood up. I was mad as hell and didn't know why. "Did Karofsky actually _tell _you that Hummel had been rubbed out?

"No, no. Of course not. But he had a curse on him for sure. And Karofsky's too smart to end up making license plates."

"It would be the chair, Sam," I said softly. "If Hummel is dead, so is Karofsky."

"Well," Sam sat back, a cynical grin playing on his lips. "He's too smart for that, too."

"Get that look gone before I backhand it to the floor," I snapped.

The grin fell off and so did some of the liquor. "This case is getting to you, isn't it?"

I grunted and answered him with my back.

"Yeah, it sure is. You look like hell, Blaine. What's this kid to you, really?"

"Why are you here, Sam? Guilt isn't something that's motivated you before.

A silence. And then: "You know, if I could take it back I would," his voice was as small as a shadow at mid day. "I'd take it all back."

"Hummel?"

"No, not that. Well, _yes_. But not just that." A wet click in his throat. "Dalton."

I turned and looked him over. The years had thrown him around and then thrown him round him some more. There wasn't much of the Sam I once knew left. Just a man that looked like someone in faded clippings in an old photo album.

"Well." I turned away again. "Dalton was a long time ago."

I stood there for some time, until the door snipped quietly closed. When I turned a round again Sam Evans was gone.

And so was the gun.

* * *

"That's it? That's all you have to tell me?"

"With all due respect. I found more out in a week than your Noah Puckerman found out in a month, Mr Hudson."

"I didn't hire you to find things out. I hired you to find my brother!"

In front of me sat a very different Finn Hudson to the one that had came to my office that day. He was no longer the slightly dense client with the sweet smile. He looked years older, his fingers continuously battered against the table edge, little beads of sweat decorated his forehead like medals, and his eyes constantly swept the Breadstix café as if expecting the walls to start closing in any moment.

Hudson wasn't just worried. He was scared.

"That's what I am trying to do. I know where he worked, who his friends are," I told him in a patient voice. "His enemies."

"That's ridiculous. Kurt doesn't have any enemies!" He banged a hand down on the table and the spoons jumped in fright.

Tanaka gave me the eye from the counter and I held up a calming palm. _Everything okay here._He nodded and continued drying his glass. But his eyes stared fixed.

"I assure you he did, Mr. Hudson. At least one. Sometimes that's all it takes."

"Are you telling me to prepare for the worst?"

"No." I shook my head. "I'm telling you not to expect miracles."

"He's not gone, Blaine. I know it. I _feel_it."

He did, too. I could see in his eyes that he believed it with everything he had. Not only believed.

But _knew._

"Have you told me everything?" My voice was gentle. Probing. "_Everything _you know."

"Of course I have! Do you think I'd leave out anything that could help Kurt?"

He was lying. Call it paranoia. Guesswork. Or simply an ex cop's instinct. But Finn Hudson was lying alright.

"Listen, I'm late for an appointment. And this has _clearly _been a waste of my time." He wiped at his mouth with a napkin and stood up, throwing some nickels on the table.

"Jesse St James."

An experiment. A successful one. The blood in his face escaped and ran to his toes. His eyes blew wide and his jaw hung low.

"Who?" he said in a dry voice. "I don't know that name."

"Are you sure about that, Mr. Hudson?"

His jaw squared and jutted out in defiance. "Just find my brother, Blaine. That's all I want from you." He turned and walked out of the café without a backward glance.

I stared down at my nearly empty plate and pushed around some surviving grits with my knife. Karofsky, St James, Sam, Hudson and Hummel. What connected them? What did they all have in common?

A bell chimed a new customer.

I needed to go back to _The Fury_. Speak to Sam. Hell, speak to Karofsky if I had to. At the very least get my hat and my gun back. You can't be a shamus without a hat and gun.

"What have I told you about having business meetings in here, Anderson?"

"I'm just here for the fine cup of Joe, Tanaka," I soothed. "You know that."

"Yeah, yeah. You've got me blushing behind my skirts. That'll be four dollars."

I put my hand into my jacket and felt an empty space where my wallet should be. He saw the news on my face and his disposition turned mean.

"Oh, so that's your game? How about I call some of your old friends down at the station? How would that be?"

"That won't be necessary," the new entrant soothed. They walked over and pressed the green into his hand. "I'll get it."

Tanaka snatched the money as if it would sprout legs and follow Hudson out. "Your money, pal." He gave me a sneer and retrieved my plate. "You just watch yourself, Anderson."

"Thank you," I said, frowning in confusion as my rescuer sat down in the seat opposite. "And I really appreciate it, but I'm not looking for company."

"You look like hell," he said flatly, ignoring me.

"Well, I'm not planning on posing for any cheesecake pictures anytime soon. Listen, can I help…" The words died in my throat as I looked at him.

_Really _looked at him.

"Hello, Mr. Anderson," Kurt Hummel said. "I believe you've been looking for me?"


	3. Chapter 3

Th**e Lost Nightingale**  
**Chapter 3**

"You dyed your hair."

"Goodness. You really are a detective." He smiled, easy and slow, like a stream of sunlight from a bay window.

I wanted to pull him to feet and kiss him hard, bent at the waist like I was Astaire and he was Rogers, I wanted to pound his head into the table until nothing was left in my hands but dust and that damn black hair. I didn't know what I wanted.

"Say something," he whispered, and I saw the evidence of his tormented weeks, an age in his eyes like an unwanted guest at a cocktail party, one who had arrived a decade too early. "Anything."

"Glasses, too? Did they improve your sight? Did you see Mercedes and your brother? See them worried frantic? Can you see all the way to Lima? See your parents wondering what the hell happened to their baby boy?"

He took them off and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. And there he was. The missing Kurt Hummel.

"It was for the best," he said. "They were in danger. He would have seen to that."

"Karofsky?"

"You've found me Mr. Anderson. You can take that back to my family. To Mercedes. I'm alive. Your case is over."

"Sit back down, Kurt. Mind if I call you, Kurt? And you can call me Blaine. It seems natural considering how long we've been dancing around each other?" The heat crawled round my voice like vine on a forgotten pane. "And I'm not satisfied just yet."

He sighed and dropped back down into the seat, his lips pursed and his arms folded. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Why you ran? Why you went low?"

"It'll put you in danger."

"I have a return ticket." I saw a hint of a smirk tug at his mouth. "Thrill me."

"Okay, what do you know so far? What have you _detected_?"

"Not a whole lot. If I was anymore in the dark, I'd have rickets." I leaned back in the chair and looked him over good. His picture hadn't done him justice. My _imagination_ hadn't done him justice. He had a face that could make a clock forget the time, and detectives forget their jobs.

I filled him in on what Mercedes had told me. His pretty skin grew paler with each word and his lips becoming a thin, brutal line. "She told you about the kiss?" His fingers began to drum against the table restlessly. "I see."

"What happened the night you ran away? Did Karofsky try something?"

He shook his head. "Not that night. I don't mind admitting I was scared that he would. No matter what I told Mercedes. I mean, sure. He stood too close, called me names. But he didn't... It was just the usual. It came to the end of my shift. I was ready to leave. I was so tired I could barely stand. Karofsky had made me sing _After You've Gone_ until the words no longer made sense. I just wanted to get home and crawl into a hot bath."

I grabbed my imagination by the throat and told it to sit down and pay attention. To forget about pale, slim limbs and wandering soapy hands.

"But I'd left my coat in the back of the bar. I went back for it. And..."

I made a circling motion with my finger. "And what?"

"Karofsky was there. So was another man. And there was a third, tied to a chair. He'd been badly beaten. He was barely recognizable. But I knew him."

"Who was it, Kurt?"

"The owner of that club uptown? The New Directions? I met him when looking for gig. He was hurt pretty bad and the other man was yelling at him. I don't remember what about. I was just... frozen. And Karofsky began hitting him. Hitting him hard."

Tears came to his eyes. They had been waiting in the wings since he'd started his story.

"Then the other man took out a gun. He said something about a last chance. But the one in the chair couldn't have heard. Not the state he was in." His eyes fixed on me, nearly knocking me from my seat in their intensity. "Then he shot him. Dead."

"They saw you?" I asked.

"Heard me. I sort of gasped. They turned round and I… Well, I ran."

"To Mercedes."

"I wasn't thinking. Karofsky knew we were close. I thought we'd both better get the hell out of town before we ended up like the man in the chair. I couldn't let her go back to that place. Knowing what I did."

"What happened after you left her? What made you drop off the map?"

"I went back to my apartment. Began to pack. But I wasn't alone. Karofsky was there." He broke our gaze and stared down at the table. "I tried to run but he grabbed me. He...he flung me down on the bed."

My jaw set and I gritted my teeth, damn near grinding them into powder.

"He pinned my wrists above my head, and sort of... He was on top of me. That horrible _stare_ of his. And I thought..." He gave a shrug. We both knew what he had thought. "But then he climbed off me. Threw my bag at me and told me to get out of town. Told me if he saw me, if _anyone_ saw me, Mercedes would pay. My family would pay. That he had connections now. I didn't need told twice. I took my things and ran."

"Karofsky let you go?" I whistled under my breath. He clearly had it bad for the kid. "Why didn't you leave? Why are you still here?"

"I had nowhere to go. I realized that if I still went to New York, I'd eventually have to tell Mercedes why. I couldn't put her in danger like that. And I couldn't go alone and just leave her. I had to make sure she was safe. That Karofsky kept his word."

I nodded. "And your family?"

"The less they knew the better." He picked up a napkin, picking at the edges and tearing into tiny strips. "For now, at least."

"Consider the torch passed," I said.

"I'm sorry?" Every word he uttered was like a soft, gentle tinkle on ivories. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to hear him sing. "What do you mean?"

"You heard me. You need eyes on Mercedes and I've got two of those. You've done your job, kid. Go home to your folks."

"Really?" He laughed in a nervous titter, like a broken pinwheel in the breeze. "Just like that? It's that easy, is it?"

"Why not? Your brother's here and he's not going anywhere. You're putting him in danger the longer you stay."

"Finn? Here?"

"You missed him by a hummingbird heartbeat." I took in his face and painted it to memory. "And, Kurt? Something has him rattled. I think that someone knows you didn't keep your promise to Karofsky. And that someone is leaning on your brother. How far are you going to let them push?"

He held up his hands as if to ward off my words. "I don't understand?"

"Let me throw you something and see if it finds a hook. Jesse St James. Does that mean anything to you?"

He shook his head. Unlike his brother, I believed him. "I'm willing to bet even money he's our mysterious button man, or at the very least connected to him."

"Who _is_ he?"

"I don't know," I said. "Yet."

He shook his head, tapping a finger against his lips. "I can't leave all of this with you. My family paid you to find me. Not to take on my load."

"They paid me to get to get you back safe. I intend to deliver. Refunds are bad for business."

He grinned almost coyly. "I looked up on you."

I smiled back. "That so?"

"I know about what happened at Dalton."

My smile fled. "You may think you do," I said coldly. "You wouldn't be the first."

"They'll say he'll never walk again."

"They say right."

"You gave in your badge. You left the precinct."

"Are you writing a piece for Louella Parsons? I _know_ what happened."

"Sam was your partner. Sam Evans who never met a drink he didn't like. Sam Evans, who left the precinct a few months after you. Driven out. Drinking on the job, they say." He interlocked his fingers and leant across the table, staring at me hard with those aquamarine eyes. "Who was driving really, Blaine? How hard would that book have been thrown if it had been Sam Evans behind the wheel?"

I worried my lip and tried to keep my face flat. "Say, who's the detective here?"

His head tilted and his lips twisted sideways. "I thought I had you figured out. You're not what I expected at all."

"Oh, really?"

"No. You're even better." He didn't know the words until they tumbled out. "I mean..."

"Leave it be. I liked that version just fine." I stood up and motioned to the bag at his side. "Those your things?" He gave a nod. "Well, bring them. You're staying with me. And enough about Sam Evans. I don't want that noise in my ear, okay?"

* * *

"Do you live alone?" Kurt asked dropping his things to my floor, and taking the glasses from his face. His eyes swept room over the room. It was a short ride. It wasn't exactly The Grand Hotel.

"I don't need nobody's company but my own."

"Really? No girl?" He teased. "No special lady?"

Clearly his research wasn't as in depth as he thought.

"Just my mother. She's more than enough for one man." I leaned against the breakfast counter, my elbows scraping wood. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"I... I'm sorry?" He blushed. I liked that shade on him.

"A shower?" I pointed to the bathroom. "Towel's are in the closet. I can't imagine you've been living in luxury these past few weeks."

"I managed," he gave a tiny shake of his shoulders. "But yes, I'll take that shower. Thank you." He shone a beam on me and I had to fight the urge to shield my eyes.

Watching him go, I put a hand to my chest. My palm rose and fell with every breath. Still alive. But the night was early yet. I went to the cupboard and got him some clean blankets and a pillow, throwing them on the couch. I followed them, sitting down neatly and trying to control my head.

_What was it about Kurt? And when had he stopped being Hummel? And how the hell had he found out about Abrams?_

I sat there for awhile in the quiet, my hands curled into lumps on my thighs. I loosened my tie and pulled it from my shirt, unfastening the top buttons and pulling up my sleeves. I listened to the quiet fill the room. I leaned my head back and tried to clear my mind, listening to the drone of the shower. After awhile my eyes shut and I began to drift. Drift from car crashes that left innocents maimed. Drift from thugs who tied men to chairs and killed them. Drift from boy's with pretty faces and big problems.

"Blaine?" A voice interrupted after awhile, pulling me from the claws of a dream. Not a good one. It can't have been. He wasn't in it. "Blaine?"

"What took you so long?" I said more harshly than I had intended. I kept my eyes shut. I wasn't ready for him yet.

"I'm sorry. Just slipping into something more comfortable."

"What? A coma?" I muttered. There was no more avoiding it. I opened my eyes and my breath tried to crawl back down my throat. "Why in hell are you dressed like Mae West?"

"It's a kimono!" He protested, pulling the silk tight round himself, self consciously. "It was a gift."

And not from his Father, I'd bet. "It's _indecent._"

He grew pinker than the material. "It's all I have! I didn't have time to pack up a lot."

"Yeah, I can see how that one fit right into your pocket."

He scowled and sat down, keeping as far from me as possible. Pulling at the blankets, he covered himself fully.

"I'm sorry that it's not to your liking, Orry-Kerry. And I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable," he snapped. "But it was _your_idea to bring me here."

I decided to let that ride. "Tomorrow. I'm calling your brother. I should call him now." Except I wasn't ready to give him back. "But we could both do with a sleep. Including him."

He smiled sort of sadly at that, picking at imaginary lint from the blanket.

"I want to put you both on that train. I want to see you both looking out the window and waving a pair of hankies, fresh tears running down your faces. I want to be able say for sure that you're both dust, okay?"

"Are they going to get away with it?" he asked in a soft voice. "Karofsky and..."

"St James? No. At least I'm going to try to make sure they don't."

"You'd need me as a witness. To tell the police what I saw."

"I need you alive more than that." If he heard the throaty appeal in that he ignored it.

"Thank you, Blaine." He placed a hand onto my arm. It felt like a stray eyelash.

I looked over at him, at his innocent and questioning gaze, his hair wet and plastered against his scalp, at the smooth curve joining his neck and shoulder, at the pale chest that the loose garment failed to cover- exposing ivory skin. I looked and I got my fill.

His lips were full, soft and pink. They sat there wondering why they weren't being kissed and mine felt pretty much the same about the matter. But the last thing he needed was another Karofsky. I swallowed thickly.

"Don't worry about it, kid." I pushed the hand away and ignored the hurt that twisted in his eyes. "Get some sleep. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."

* * *

Early the next morning I pulled on my jacket and stared down at Kurt asleep on my couch. Burrowed up in my sheets like a sparrow in the dead of night. I ached to touch his face. To glide the backs of my fingers over his cheekbone. To test if he was real.

The room was a sickly yellow. It had been since the sun rose over an hour ago. The shadows had picked up their skirts and had been chased across the room. They lay heavy on me.

Mooning over the boy wasn't going to get him out of the town. And there was no point getting attached anyway.

By sundown he'd be gone for good.

I scribbled out a quick note, warning him not to leave the apartment until I returned, I left it on the coffee table weighted down by a pocket watch. I had an errand. I needed to make sure I was equipped to deal with whatever this mess was. I had to know I was putting Hudson and Hummel on that train safe. Like I had promised. Tearing my eyes away I walked across the room, out the door and made my way out of the building.

* * *

I pulled up outside Cheerios and tried to banish images of pale skin and ocean eyes from my mind. A crowd was gathered at the entrance, gathering up dust and cursing up a storm. Construction workers. Glancing up I saw with a start that the Cheerios sign was gone. In its place was the beginning of a new one. _V O C_ was all there was so far. It would take more than a name change to get this place moving.

I gave what I took to be a foreman a nod, and passed him by. Inside it was just as busy. Workers covered the bar, drilling and hammering in clashing rhythms.

"Santana," I shouted over the din, spotting her at the bar.

Seeing me her eyes widened and her mouth pursed. She held up one manicured hand. As if by a button the room fell silent.

I made my way over and gave her grin. She had nothing for me. "Santana, can I have a quick word?"

"Velocity."

"You should be on the stage. That face? That wit?"

"So they tell me," she replied dully. "How can I help you, Blaine?"

I gave her a quirk of my brow. "So formal? I need a bean shooter. I need ribbed up on a few things. And I need both last week."

"I'm not in business for those particular items." A slight dart to the right with her eyes. "Not anymore."

"Looks like that's not the only change." I glanced round. "What's that? A craps table?"

"It gets in the customers, doesn't it?" Again. That voice like a blunt knife edge. Something had knocked the spark out of Santana. And with Santana that was no easy task.

"You mean you're making this place a clip joint? Like The Fury?"

She shrugged. A gesture I didn't even know she was familiar with.

I frowned. Her fingers rubbed over her wrist and tended to a small developing bruise. A bruise the size of coin. Just the right size for the pad of a thumb.

"And the new name?" I licked my lips. They were suddenly dry. "It wasn't finished."

"Vocal Adrenaline. Catchy, isn't it? Got a beat to it." Definite this time. Her eyes shifted to the left and mine to the floor. A shadow twisted its way towards her feet. Someone was standing at the cellar doorway listening to every word. And whoever it was had Santana good and scared.

"I don't know. I liked this place as it was." A bead of sweat broke free of my temple and made a run for my jaw.

_How many_? I mouthed.

Her eyes widened and she rose her hands to the bar. "That's because you're old fashioned. You hate change. I bet you cried when talkies came in." Her fingers fluttered against the wood.

_Four._

"No one wanted to hear Clara Bow speak. Not even Clara Bow."

"Bow? I had you down as a Valentino boy, myself." Her lips said out loud. Silently they told me to go. "I imagine he was quite an inspiration to a young Blaine Anderson."

"You look like you have a lot on. How about I pull up some sleeves and help?" The shadow gave a frantic shift at that. "Do you want _help_, Santana?"

"And have you put your back out? You'd end up on your couch _at home_ and I'd lose my only customer. Well, I would if you actually bought a drink once in awhile."

_At home._ There'd been an edge to it that hadn't touched the other words.

I kept my eyes to the cellar door. "Move the bar to my apartment. Save us all the trouble."

"Trust me, Blaine. The last thing you want is this unsavory lot ransacking your place."

She punched me square in the jaw with that one. I just hoped the shadow hadn't caught it.

_Kurt. They were going for Kurt._

"Well, I know when I'm not wanted." I gave a tight smile and she gave one back, just as forced. "That is if you're sure you don't want me?"

"Big girl like me?" She gave a shake of her head. "You hurry along now."

The shadow was gone.

I turned on a heel, moving quick and fast. I nearly knocked over the blonde waitress in my hurry. Our eyes met and parted ways in the same breath. They understood each other just fine.

How had I played it so sour? What kind of dummy trick was that? Leaving the kid alone with nothing but a badly scrawled note to keep him warm?

_If they had him, they'd kill him._

I left the bar and crossed the street, climbing into my Chrysler. Gripping the steering wheel tight, I struggled for air. The space began to grow smaller and smaller and soon there would be nowhere for me to go. My mouth felt dry and the air felt too thick. It wrapped itself around and crushed me in its fist.

_And if they killed him, I'd..._

A cold muzzle into the side of my neck stopped the thought dead.

Slowly I met my captor's eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"Drive," said Rachel Berry.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Lost Nightingale**  
**Chapter 4**

I awoke from the darkness with two goons sat round a table staring at me, and a headache that could split the Pacific.

"Welcome back, Anderson!" said the nearest, his face a mass of colours and black ridden smiles. It was a nice face, the kind that would listen to your woes and give you his last buck should you need it. Or even if you didn't. His hands weren't so nice; they held a silver blade that shimmered in the dim lit room like a shy, nubile girl at her first prom.

"Rachel? She sapped me." My voice seemed to be telephoning from Europe. And not with good news.

"Frail must not like you much, bub."

"Impossible to believe isn't it?" I tested my binds, the attempt flaring up a pain across my back. It told me I'd been here for some time. Enough for my muscles to adjust at least.

Rachel had brought me to _The Fury_. She'd been nervous. Skittish. And I thought I could talk her down. The butt of her shaking Smith and Wesson had thought otherwise. My eyes swept the white room, empty, save for the table and chair I was tied to. A faint smell of foist filled the air. I wondered if it was same seat Kurt's victim had died in.

"No good, baby. I tied you up myself." The nice faced man shook his head sadly. "Ex Eagle scout."

"Really? You should give back your badge." The other bruiser wolf whistled hard and long at that. I wanted to snap his neck.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" The whistler poked me hard in the chest, making me curse under my breath. "Giving back badges?"

"Button up, you cad." Nice Face patted my knee affectionately. With the knife. "Ignore him. He has no manners." He rose, glancing over my shoulder. "Hey, big guy."

"So he's finally awake?" Karofsky asked from behind me. "Talking?"

"He just came to." Nice Face nodded and Karofsky came and stood next to him. Staring down at me with a twisted lip.

"I told you to stay out of this, Alan Ladd. I was trying to be a nice guy. A pal to you." He shook his head, wounded and slow. "But you just don't listen. I thought Dicks were supposed to be smart? How come you're so damn dumb?"

"Coming from you? I'm wounded."

He said nothing, jutting his head at the other two. They took the hint and moved away. Leaving us nice and intimate.

He pulled up a chair beside me, resting his chin on his fingers almost delicately. "How about you tell us where Hummel is?"

_They didn't have him! _A feeling like bubbling hot water began in the pit of my gut and gurgled up into my throat. I hoped that this time he'd had the good sense to run.

"How about you go sit on your thumb for a few hours?"

He made a faint sucking noise between his thin lips. "Always with the quips," he sneered. "Listen, Anderson." He looked at the other men in the room; they'd moved away and were leaning against the wall watching with bored eyes. "Listen." He licked his lips and his voice dropped. "Just tell me where he is? It's for his own good."

"His own good? Ending toe up isn't for his own good, Karofsky."

"I wouldn't..." The yell halted in his throat, clutching at his teeth and tiptoeing back the way it came. "I wouldn't hurt him. _I _wouldn't." The implication had been tossed out. I caught it easily.

"Then who would?"

He chose to ignore that. "We know he was with you." He swallowed thickly. "That he stayed with you last night. Pitching woo?"

I leaned as close to him as my ties would allow. "Jealous?"

His nostrils quivered a little and his breath made a noise in them for a moment. Then he relaxed and said quietly. "Let me get to him first. Where is he?"

A creak from behind. Footsteps. "Let _you _get to him first, Karofsky?"

Karofsky's eyes burst open and tried to edge his nose off his face. "Because... Because I want to give the daisy something to remember me by. Give him a beating he won't forget in a hurry."

"So, you can lose him again?" The newcomer stepped around me. "I think not." He was handsome. Sure. Why not? Tall with wavy film star hair and intense blue eyes that burned over your skin. Throwing me that, he gave me the barest of glances and turned his back. He strolled like a man in the park in Spring. He strolled like he'd already got away with murder once. And practise makes perfect.

"Lost him?" I laughed "Is that the story you've been pitching? Who helped you come up with that one? Hearst?"

"You really want to ride me?" Karofsky whispered, looking at the floor. It must have been interesting, he stared for a while. Then he sucker punched me in the gut. "Applesauce to you! Quit riding me! Where's Hummel, you little queen!"

"Nice...words...you forget...you're...a queen too?" I spluttered out as soon as I had regained enough air. He sat back in his seat, his expression whitening like sour milk. Turning to the tall man they exchanged a weighty glance, filled with questions and answers I couldn't read.

"He's lying! I ain't no damn invert!"

"I know, Karofsky. He's just trying to rattle you." He tapped at Karofsky's shoulder, who jumped up like the fingers were live wires. Oblivious to the reaction, the man took Karofsky's seat. "Do you know who I am?"

"Steamboat Willy?"

He contemplated me silently for a moment, like a celebrated landmark he was disappointed to finally see in person. "I hear you like this?" His slightly minty breath wafted on my face as his hand trailed down my body, reaching my groin. He began to palm it in gentle, lazy strokes. "Like that? Hmm?" I stared at him in disgusted horror and uselessly tried to push my body down through the wood of the chair, desperate to escape his touch. Smiling pleasantly he gripped my balls and squeezed with an almost inhuman strength, chuckling at my resulting scream. "Is that nice?"

I answered with a scream and a curse.

"I'm afraid that's not _my_inclination. Where's Hummel?" He squeezed again and my vision whitened in blind, inescapable pain. "Where's the boy? We know you were with him? That he stayed at your apartment. Where...is...Hummel?" With each word he punctuated it with another vice like clamp, a dreamy little grin on his face as I writhed at the agony.

"Okay! Okay! I'll tell you! Please! _Just stop!_"

He let go, wiping his hand on his knee with a curled lip of disdain. "There? Isn't it better to behave? Where is he?"

"I sent him to... I sent him to... " I panted as my crotch throbbed dully.

"Yes?"

"Freedonia. Land of the Spree, and the Home of the Knave."

For an instant he was rigid and motionless, fury filled his face and he grinned tightly, teeth bared. "Wise crack all you want, Gum Shoe. But we _will_find him. And when we do you'll really be behind the eight ball. More than you already are, anyway."

"It was never meant to go that far, was it? Killing the owner of New Directions?" My words fell out in a breath and my groin wanted me to shut up, but I ignored it. "You just wanted the club. That's all. Like Cheerios. Like here. You're new in town and taking over, aren't you, St. James?"

His expression softened and for a moment he actually seemed impressed. "You're not the weak sister I'd been led to believe." He shot a glance over his shoulder. Karofsky ducked his head and gave a dry cough. "But nevertheless. I'm afraid that you either tell us what we need to know or we'll deem you no longer useful. Do you understand me, Mr. Anderson?"

I told him I understood.

"Good. That's good. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Anderson." He stood up elegantly, playing with his cufflinks absently. "Karofsky? Keep shaking him and see what falls out."

"And if he still don't talk?" Red patches showed in his cheeks. "What then?"

Jesse St. James gave a sweet grin. "Make that silence permanent."

* * *

I drifted in and out of consciousness over the next hour or so, always waking to the same question, always leading to the same result.

"The boy, Anderson!" Karofsky gripped my hair, his stubby nails scraping my scalp. He stared down at me, upside down, teeth bared and mean in the face. "Where is the boy?"

"Go to hell," I said through a mouth of blood. And smiled

"I can't take much more of this," he sighed, shoving my head away. He pulled at his collar and kneaded his face with the other hand, my blood smearing his skin. "He's not going to sing."

"Hmm, you think we should just ice him? I'm getting tired of hearing his skin tear."

For a moment Karofsky looked almost sick. "No- I- Look! I need a damn break! Bryan? Give him half an hour to get a clue. Then we'll decide what needs to be done."

He lurched out, his shoulders bent low and his head lower. That left me, Bryan and Nice Face. Alone at last. I breathed in the thick, poisonous air, my breath machine gunning in short, painful bursts.

Nice Face bulged his lower lip with his tongue. "He doesn't have the stones for what needs to be done," he said. Nicely. "Small time you see. They never do. Which leaves it to us. We have to make an executive decision, Mr Anderson. It's a tough one, but it needs to be done." He pinched my cheek. "You don't know anything do you? Oh, you may want to seem all brave and John Wayne like. We get it. We _like_it. But it's getting old. We both know you would have spilled by now."

I said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"I hope you enjoyed the boy. I'm sorry it had to come to this. You seem a darb guy." He gave a shrug, removing a rod from the inside of his jacket. "Eccentric tastes, sure. But I always liked Noël Coward myself."

"Are you going to talk him to death or shoot him?" Bryan snapped. "Just get it done."

Nice Face gave another one of his sad little smiles and sighed, the breath hanging from his lips. He pressed the barrel to my temple, index finger caressing the trigger. "Awfully sorry, pally."

_This was it. This was it._

"Wait!" A familiar voice. "Let me try." My vision was fuzzy, one eye wouldn't even open, so precise Karofsky's knuckles had been, but I knew the voice. Rachel Berry.

Nice Face jumped up, and held his free hand in the air. Warning her off. "This is no sight for ladies. Okay. Just go back into the bar, Miss. Take it on the heel and toe."

"It's okay, Carl. Jesse asked me to swing by." Her voice drew nearer and took on an innocent quality. "Unless you want me to go double check? He hates being questioned, but if it will set your mind at ease? I'm sure..."

"No! No, if he wants you to try, he wants you to try." Carl stood up, looking at my head almost mournfully. Probably imagining the slug that should be in my button by now.

"Go ahead," Bryan said. Gesturing towards me like I was a prize on a quiz show. "Talk."

"Jesse would prefer I talk to him alone."

"No dice. We can't leave you alone with him." Carl shook his head. "It's not safe."

"He's tied to a chair. What exactly do you think he is going to? Use me as a foot stool?" Her voice and poise were confident. You could almost ignore the tiny tremor in her hands. "Leave us alone, please."

He tutted looking between us both. He held up the piece. "I'm going to leave this on here, okay. If he tries _anything_. Seal the deal." He placed it on the table in front of me. "You know how to do that?"

"I know." Rachel gave a curt nod, her eyes fixed on me. "I know what I need to do."

"Try not to break a nail, Ankle." Bryan smirked. Carl shot him a look and he froze. "Sorry, Miss," he muttered. "Didn't mean anything by it."

"So, you're Jesse's girl?" I asked as soon as we were alone.

Her dark hair surged forward along her cheeks. She put her right hand up and pushed it back and then rubbed her temple with one finger. "You're a mess."

I shrugged. "Cut myself shaving."

"Please." She mourned in a thin, brittle voice. "Do you know where Kurt Hummel is?"

"Kurt Hummel? Say, what's all this about a Kurt Hummel?" I grinned and she visibly winced at my blood stained teeth.

"If you just tell us where he is, he'll let you go. I promise."

"With a warm hug and a cup of cocoa?" I spat. "Get real, kid. That's not the end game here. And what about Hummel? What do you think will happen to him once they find him? Hmm?"

"I'm sure that..." She stopped, wringing her hands in front of her small frame. "If you just co-operate. That's all."

"Why?" I asked, simple and plain. Fancy was getting me nowhere. "Why is a nice girl like you tied up with a redhot like him?"

"You just don't know him. You don't realise how brilliant he is. Jesse sees my talent. My potential. He knows that I can go all the way. That I have what it takes!"

"Really?" My voice was dry.

"_Really._ Do you know back home I starred in _The Wild Duck?_ The critics said that my performance was a revelation. That I made the part my own. That I was _born _to play Hedvig. "

"They oughta see _this _one."

"And then I came out here and no one cared. No one saw me as special. As a _revelation_. I was just another face in the crowd."

"Yeah? That's just too bad. I'm sitting here crying like a church on a Monday."

"Jesse _sees_ me. Jesse says he can get me a screen test. With Warners. He says that he can take me places!" Her voice crawled down the cracks in hardwood floor. "If I do what he wants. _Needs._"

"You're too pretty for Jack. Try MGM. You have Crawford's jaw line. They'll like that. Get yourself some Adrian pads and you're all set."

"Don't make fun of me! Don't you dare! You don't know what it's like! This is all I have ever wanted. Don't you get that?

"No, _you_don't understand! They're going to kill me. And when they find Kurt they'll kill him, too. This isn't a parlour game, Rachel!"

"But Jesse..." She bit at a knuckle and looked at me over her hand. "He told me he'd let you go. He _promised_me."

"And he promised to take you to the top. But, Sister? The top is the H and you're Peggy Entwistle."

She turned her back, her thin shoulders shaking like branches in the winds. "Stop it! Okay!"

I didn't. "How long before he decides you know too much, Rachel? How long before you get a chair of your own? Maybe he'll even wash my blood off this one first. Him being so swell and all."

"He wouldn't do that. He _cares_about me." But it was herself he was trying to kid. "He does. Once you tell him what he needs to know then he'll let you go. That boy... It was just a misunderstanding. Jesse wants to explain to him. That's all."

I grinned. It felt awful. I didn't like it. I wanted it off my face. "Hummel saw your Henry Higgins kill a man. A man in a chair just like this."

"No." She gave a harsh gasp. "No, just stop it. Okay? Stop it."

"Rachel," The fight drained out of my pores. "Please." I didn't know that voice. I think it was mine. But we had never met before. "_Please, Rachel._Is it really worth this?"

"Damnit!" She snapped, stamping towards me. She moved swiftly behind me, shoving my shoulders forward roughly.

"What are you...?"

"Untying you. Keep still!" She made surprisingly short work of the knots. They dropped to the floor, coiled and vicious, a snake waiting in prey.

"Ex Eagle Scout?"

"What?" She helped me stand, mindful of the worse of my wounds. "Can you walk?" She caught me as I stumbled. "That's a no, then."

"Give me a minute!"

"We haven't got a minute! Right. Here." She grabbed the gun up from the table and placed my fingers around the butt. I stared down at it, my senses still not returned from whatever vacation they'd gone on. "Mr. Anderson! Come on!" She dragged my arm across her neck and pressed her back to my stomach, still tender from St. James men. "Now march me out. They'll let you by."

"How can you be so sure?" She stared me down from the ground and I nodded. I got it. _Jesse's girl._I struggled to remain standing, my face buried in her hair. A sweet fruit I couldn't name tried to pull me in. I pushed back weakly. "Okay, let's go."

She grabbed at the handle, swinging the door open and throwing us out. "Please do what he says! He's crazy!" Rachel gasped. "Please!"

Bryan and Carl leapt to the roof, too surprised to pull out the heat. "What the...?"

"Shut up." I hoped they didn't see she was borderline carrying me as we made our way out. We edged closer to them, keeping a distance. "Just shut up!"

"Go easy, Anderson. You're unleashing a whole heap of dutch here." Carl said earnestly, softly tailing us. "Just let the dame go."

"Drop your gun! You! Now! Kick it over. Kick it over!" Bryan lowered the roscoe he had been raising and followed the order, his eyes dark with hate and humiliation. "Pick it up!" I ordered Rachel, keeping the weapon pressed to her neck as we crouched, my eyes trained to the goons. "Put one it in my waistline Her hands shook. She was right. _A revelation_. Somewhere in the Hollywood hills the Barrymores were quaking. Her knuckles grazed my naval as she pushed the gun into place. Hell, I hoped the safety was on.

"Don't follow us. If you do. She dies." We began to move backwards up the corridor. I darted looks over my shoulder as we went. "I said stay where you are!" To Rachel: "Is there a way out of here?"

"Just a little farther. The fire escape leads to the parking lot," she hissed back. "I have Jesse's keys. We can get out of here."

We reached the door and Jesse's goons watched us with wide, angry eyes. It wasn't my gun they were scared of. It was what Jesse would do if his woman ended up hurt. A dark part of me wanted to test that. Get revenge. I crushed it down and shoved it away.

We backed out into the light and broke into a scrambled run, Rachel dragging me as we moved. "This is it!" She shrieked. We dived into the car and she grabbed at the wheel, jamming the keys into the ignition. "Wait. Wait! I don't know... I don't know where to go!"

The door behind us crashed open and shouts began.

"_I_know," I gasped out, trying not to black out, my forehead against the window. "Just drive!"

The car punched gravel and we flew from the lot. I sneaked a glance in the rear-view. The steps were all over the place and the pace was all wrong. They hadn't got choreography yet. But it wouldn't be long before they got the beat down just fine.

"There's a place we could try. The last place that they'd look."

"A friend?" Rachel asked, glancing over, her bottom lip trembling. Her hands gripped the wheel tight. The white knuckles standing out against the red of my blood.

"Not a friend. No." Darkness began to pull at my shadow, warm and inviting. Down and down I fell. "Artie. We need to go see Artie Abrams."


	5. Chapter 5

**The Lost Nightingale  
Chapter 5**

"More tea?" The blonde asked, gesturing to the teapot. "Or coffee?"

"I'd quite like a coffee?" Rachel spoke up. "If that's okay?"

The girl shook her head sadly. "I don't have any coffee."

"Oh."

"But there's tea?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Rachel gave a tight smile and played with the hem of her skirt. "I like your apartment. It's just lovely. I like the decor."

"Thank you," the girl said. "I like your hair."

We fell into an awkward silence after that. The four of us sat around a small oak table staring at one another. Three of us had the choice of sitting. One didn't.

"Okay. You've lost a kid and you've got some bad men after you. I can dig it. But why me? Why now?" Artie asked finally. The question that had been fighting past the pegs in his mouth since Rachel and I had hit his door. "What are you doing here, Anderson?"

"It's a good story for you," I said. "A humdinger."

"Didn't you hear? I don't work in headlines no more. I have a nice little typing job. Courtesy of the Dalton police force." Rachel looked confused and he caught it. "Chippy don't know?"

"Your problem is with me." I told him. "Not her."

"Why'd you lie? Anderson? Why did you cover it up? Did they get to you?"

"I didn't know. I swear to you."

"Could someone please tell me what is going on?" Rachel asked. "Didn't know what?"

Artie looked to her. "You see I used to be a newshawk. A good one. I cracked some corkers. Then I got a story about a Mike Chang. Good kid. Wasn't he, baby?"

"We danced together. At the Hollywood Canteen."

"Destined for big things." Artie nods. "Yeah, well this kid is out one night and runs into a couple of cops. A couple of cops that think that only people who look like themselves should be dancing with pretty blondes. Pretty blondes like Brittany." Artie looked over at her and took her hand. "And they think Chang should hear that, too. So they tell him. With their fists. Soon Mike Chang can't hear much of anything no more. On account of being dead."

I bunched my own fists and looked at them. They stared back. They couldn't fix anything.

"You?" Rachel turned to him. Her face twisted in disgust. "You were one of the police?"

I didn't say anything. I let him carry the ball.

"No. Not him, darling. But watch out for his cameo. So, anyway. This never makes the papers. No one is charged. No one cares. But Brittany cares. And she comes and finds a reporter named Artie Abrams. Green and keen. About this high." He held a hand above him. "He falls pretty hard for this dame. He'd do anything for her. But it's not just that. He cares, too. He wants justice. What did he get instead, Anderson?"

My cue was here. "Dalton. The force. They wanted it to go away," I explained. "Behind the scenes, that is. My partner and I got called to a break in. Downtown."

"My old apartment. Now, _that_ one was on the top floor. I got an anonymous tip. A voice telling me to wait at the phone box on the corner. They had something that would blow this case wide open. The phone rang." He unzipped his teeth. "And then Anderson and his buddy piled their car into the box."

"Oh, my God." Rachel covered her lips with horrified fingers. Her eyes dropped to the metal that held him. "_You_ put him in that?"

"That's what people think, Twist." Artie leaned over and poured himself some tea. "But funny what you see when you get a face full of windscreen."

"Sam had been drinking." I gave a bitter laugh. "When wasn't he? We were arguing. I tried to get him to pull over, to let me take the wheel. We didn't see the phone box. Well, _I_ didn't see. Sam saw. Sam knew. The drinking was to take the edge off, he'd been given a job, you see. A very special job."

"To shut me up."

"Sam had been on the way down for some time. They told him this would pull him out. It was a lifeline and he grabbed it. He didn't know it had an anchor attached."

"And they didn't count on our ex flattie here switching with the patsy."

"You took the blame?" Rachel asked, waving a hand at Brittany who was trying to pass a saucer of biscuits into it. "No, thank you."

"He was my friend. And I had a clean record, and he had a wife and a kid. I had less to lose."

"He covered up a cover up." Artie chuckled. "They didn't count on me living either. The job went wrong from start to finish. It didn't matter, though, they had made their point. And just in case I was still musing it all over..." He looked over at Brittany. "Show them, baby doll."

Brittany finished her tea and put the cup carefully back on the tray. She fiddled with the spoon for a few seconds. "Okay, Artie." She lifted her hair in her hands. Hair that up until now she'd been wearing in true Veronica Lake fashion. Sunshine entwined in nimble fingers and her neck came into view. So did the nine inch scar.

"They said next time they wouldn't miss." Artie said, his thumb ghosting over the pink ridge that trailed from her ear to her shoulder. "Next time she'd have an even bigger accident. One that left her lunching with Thelma Todd. And she was all I had left."

"So, you backed off?" Rachel gave a nod. "I see. And Blaine lost his badge, Sam got drilled out anyway and...the ones who killed Mike Chang? What happened to them?"

"One had a heart attack. Scared him good, and he moved out to the country. The other one got promotion after promotion. Transferred to Boston, I think. He's still flying high." Artie removed his glasses and gave them a wipe with his shirt. "And here we all are."

For a moment we sat and thought that over. I looked at Brittany. There was a sweet, soft sheen in her eyes.

"I don't want your story, Anderson. I don't want much of anything from you. But you can stay here for tonight." He inspected his thumb as if studying a hangnail. "And tomorrow I'll go see an old source of mine. See if he has heard anything about this missing kid of yours."

"Thank you," I whispered. "I mean it."

"I'm not doing it for you." He nodded at Rachel. "It's for _her_. And this Kurt Hummel. No one was there for Mike Chang. No one was there for Brittany, and no one was there for me. The least we can do is make sure they have someone there for them." Artie looked me over good. "Even if it's a low down heel like you."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Sir. But Finn Hudson checked out this morning. He left no forwarding address." The tinny voice sailed into my brain. "Can I help you with anything else?"

"No, that's all. Thank you." I hung up.

Had Hudson skipped town? And had he skipped town with a young boy they called the Nightingale? I hoped they had. I hoped they were as far from this mess as their legs could carry them.

The feeling in my gut said otherwise. A cop's instinct never goes away. No matter how many badges they take off you.

I turned to Rachel, who was patting down the sofa bed. She was wearing a pink baby doll night dress that hugged her like a long lost relative. If I'd been a man of different tastes I'd have been picking my tongue off the floor.

"You going to be warm enough in that?"

Like I said. Different tastes.

"Keep your eyes and hands to yourself," she retorted climbing under the covers. "Luckily Brittany is so tall. Otherwise this would be even more indecent."

"I'll be nothing but a gentleman," I said, looking down at my own blue pajamas. I picked up the sheet and melted in, my bruised skin groaning at the contact. It had been a long day. And tomorrow looked like it was going to be even longer.

"I know. That's the only reason I didn't correct their assumption." I saw her bite her lip before she flicked the lamp off. "Plus..."

"What?"

"Artie. He didn't like the way Brittany was looking at you."

I snorted. "And what way was that?"

"With her eyes." She sighed. "He has been through a lot. I think he spends a lot of time waiting for the next hammer to fall. And you're an attractive man." She edged closer, her heat touching me. A hand found my chest and walked across it. "It threatens him."

I stopped the stroll. "Rachel."

"I know. I'm not asking for anything. Nothing." Her head joined her hand. The pleasant fruit smell from earlier returned to my senses. "Just hold me, Blaine."

It wasn't much to ask. My arms found her and wrapped around her tight. Tighter than I had meant. She wasn't the only one after comfort.

"That Brittany is bats," she whispered. "She kept trying to comb my hair while I was changing."

I laughed, the sound surprised the room and fell to the floor.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," she said in sleepy voice. "What happened. He shouldn't blame you the way he does."

"I let Sam behind the wheel."

"Sam didn't crash because of the drink, Blaine. It wasn't your fault that someone wanted Artie to be quiet."

"It makes it hurt less. When pain has a face."

"But it's the _wrong_ face."

"Rachel." I patted her shoulder softly, dark waves tippling over fingers. "Go to sleep."

And for once I followed my own advice.

* * *

My hands smoothed down the suit. "Are you sure he won't mind?"

"It's a little small," Brittany assured me. "And there's less of you than him."

She dusted at my shoulders and smiled at us in the mirror. The two grinned back. "Besides. Yours is pretty much ruined."

"Rachel?"

"Taking a hot bath. With plenty of bubbles." She went to the record player and the needle kissed vinyl. "Say? Do you like Dizzy Gillespie?"

"Sure, why not. He's never done anything to me."

She held a finger out and crooked it twice. "Dance with me?"

"A bit loud, isn't it?" I called over the music. Stalling. "I can barely hear myself think!"

"Artie says that's not something I ever need to worry about." She laughed and spun round. "Come on, dance with me!"

I looked towards the bathroom. "My girl might come out and get the wrong idea."

"She's not your girl," she shouted, moving her leg in a jig that made the Ziegfeld Follies look stiff. She danced closer, up close and personal. Her lips jumped forward and murmured into my shell. "You don't _have_ a girl." Her hands trailed down my sides to my hips. "You," she tapped a finger to my chest, "have a boy." She giggled and hooked me onto it.

Rolling my eyes, I took her hands and surrendered. "What gave it away?"

She pulled on a wrist and twirled under an arm. "That look in your eye, the one you can still open? It comes galloping in wherever you talk about this Kurt." A smile flashed and she swung back into my arms.

"I get a look?"

Her exertions had left her panting and she stared into my eyes. She raised a hot hand to my face and traced my cheekbone. "I bet my face looked the same. The day I got the call about Artie."

I put my own hand to her neck, my fingers brushing over the puckered remains of the scar. "I'm sorry this happened to you both. Truly."

The song changed. A slower beat. One meant for the marrying kind. But all the floor had was us. She lowered a head to my chest. I knew without asking. In her sweet daffy head she was seeing Artie. Standing and holding her in his arms. Something he would never do.

Because of me.

My fingers held her waist and we swayed. I let her have her fantasy. I was having one of my own. Of a boy with rose lips, ivory skin and strange two tone eyes. A boy I barely knew. A boy that might already be gone. Or dead.

"This looks cozy." A voice said, below the melody. "Am I interrupting?" Artie glared up at us. "Oh, don't stop on _my_ account."

"Baby, this isn't what it looks like." Brittany pulled out of my arms like lead through air. "Baby!"

"No? Looks like _my_ wife is dancing with a guy who is wearing _my_ suit. Dancing with the guy who made sure I'd never dance again." He rolled his shoulders. "And I'm pretty sure my spectacles are on my map."

"We were just dancing, that's all," she protested. "You know I would never..."

"Dancing? Dancing?" He clenched a fist and punched himself in the leg. Hard. "Well, why not? Why the hell not? Why shouldn't you dance with the first hot ticket you get alone?' he spat. "Must be a nice break from looking after Lionel Barrymore day after day!"

"Listen," I held my hands up. "You're reading this all wrong."

"Don't tell me to listen!" Tears ran from Brittany's eyes and a pained sound burst from her chest. It deflated him instantly. "No, doll! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper. I'm so sorry." Brittany went to him, taking his face into her palms. She shook her head wordlessly. He gave a soft smile and put his hands over hers. "I know, baby. I know." To me: "I know we must look weird to you. Like Ava Gardner and Mickey Rooney weird. But I love her."

"I love you, too, baby."

He wheeled to record player and calmly took the needle away from the song. "I think you should go, Anderson. The girl can stay. I got a feeling you don't particularly care about her one way or another."

I went to argue but he rode through my words.

"She doesn't deserve to end up in trouble because you can't keep your gun in your pants."

"I wasn't pulling a move. I think you know that. There's too much between us. We're walking on a bridge of sand." I grabbed at my hair, massaging the scalp. "I shouldn't have come here. It was a rube lay."

"I thought I could handle it. Having you here? But I can't. If you were half the man everyone thinks you are, you'd dust." I nodded, and made to pick up my tattered clothes, but he stopped me. "Leave them. You can keep the suit."

"I'm sorry, Artie. Sorrier than you can ever know." I placed a hand to his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

"I'm low, Blaine. You may have noticed. And if I strike you. I'll strike _you_ low." He didn't look at me. He didn't have to. "Here." He pressed a card into my hand. "This is why I came back. Jacob, an old contact of mine, thinks he found something of yours."

I curled my fingers around it. I read it. I closed my eyes and softly cursed it.

Artie gave a remote smile. "Thought you might say that."

I opened my eyes. "I hope you're wrong."

"_I_ hope I'm wrong. But if I were you, I'd hurry, Anderson. Before there's no boy to save."

I nodded and turned to go.

"Wait. It's a cheap little place with expensive tastes. Brittany? Get the jar from the dresser."

"Artie, no!" Brittany protested. "The operation."

"Quit dreaming, babe." Artie said, with no force. "We both know that's a pipe dream. Besides, Anderson here is going to pay it back. Aren't you?"

I burrowed my brows together and watched Brittany cross the room and open a cabinet. She removed a jar and put it on the table.

Money. So much money it looked like they'd stuffed a green pasture in there.

"If you put all that together you'd have a portrait of Madison." Artie said. "It should pave you some roads."

"Artie, are you sure?" she asked. He gave a nod and she brought it to me. My arm enveloped it like it had her waist. She refused to meet my eyes.

"Go get the kid, Anderson. You've got a lot to make up for."

I took that. I guess I could afford it now.

"You'll look after her?" I asked, my hand on the handle and my eyes on the bathroom door. A sweet voice wavered through the frame like steam from a kettle. She was channeling Judy Garland. And Judy had some high hopes about rainbows.

As Artie gave me an affirmative jut of his head, Brittany's slim hands slipped onto his shoulders. Suddenly, I felt lonelier than I ever had before.

I left them.

Stepping outside, I breathed in the foul air of California in summer. I clutched the jar to my chest and looked down at the card in my hand. I didn't have much time. Kurt Hummel didn't have much time. The card bore one name and one name alone.

_Pavarotti's_

I turned on my heel and walked into the Los Angeles night.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Lost Nightingale**  
**Chapter 6**

Pavarotti's didn't get its reputation from selling Girl Scout cookies. It earned it good and true. It was a place that if you wanted it badly enough you could get it. If you had the scratch, that is. Money makes the world go round and sometimes the ride can make you sick.

I entered with a shudder as the air touched my skin. No amount of hot water would get the filth out. My eyes scanned the room as loud jazz music blared from the stage. From what they saw I was glad they didn't find Kurt amongst the crowd. I came to a stop at a couple who should have found privacy a good twenty minutes ago. My feet wanted out of there, but someone had poured glue across the carpet and they had no choice in the matter.

"Help you, bub?" The woman pulled back from the lips she had been previously trapped in. "It costs to watch."

"Leave him be, April." A voice said at my side. "Go find a room. This isn't a peepshow."

I turned to the newcomer with a raised brow. "Shelby. It's been awhile."

"Well, well, well. Blaine Anderson." She gripped her hips with her nails. "Didn't recognise you without all the blue." She grinned and the walls spread out to make room for it. "Is this a raid? Should I call my mouthpiece?"

"Didn't you hear? I lost that blue sometime ago. I'm just here for myself. And the charming company, of course."

"Don't tell me you got a thirst?"

"A man can only go so long without a drink." I made my mouth bend into a sickly shape. "You got something for that, Shelby?"

"Depends on your poison? We've got Sunshine over there. Sweet thing. Cute and eager. Or maybe Terri's more your thing. You like blondes?"

"I do. But not on dames."

"Anderson!" She laughed. The sound slapping me in the face. "You're light in the loafers?"

"My money is the only thing weighing me down."

"I can swing that." She gave a jerk with her neck. "Blonde you say? Jeremiah. Get over here."

A dreamboat dropped from the sky. "Hey," his hands dipped across my neck and set up home on my shoulders. "Aren't you put together real nice, Bruno? I like the black eye. You look _dangerous_. Are you?"

I evicted the hands. "Only to my friends."

"Hmm, tough. I like that. Like Robert Mitchum, yeah? Maybe I can be your Jane Greer?"

And then I heard it. We all heard it. A sound so sorrowful and beautiful that it was built to crash ships against the rocks.

A nightingale.

_My heart is sad and lonely  
For you I sigh, for you dear only  
Why haven't you seen it?  
I'm all for you body and soul_

I spend my days in longing  
And wondering why  
It's me you're wronging  
I tell you I mean it  
I'm all for you body and soul

I looked to the stage and saw the boy enveloped in white light. Eyes tightly closed against all the sin before him. He sang like that was all that mattered. For no reason at all I thought of Brittany. Slow dancing alone.

_I can't believe it  
It's hard to conceive it  
That you'd turn away romance  
Are you pretending?  
Looks like the ending  
Unless I could have one more chance to prove  
Dear, my life's a wreck you're making  
You know that I'm yours for just the taking  
I'd gladly surrender body and soul_

"You like him? He's just off the Ford production line." She gave an appreciative nod. "Maybe a little green for you?"

"We all got to learn somewhere," I shrugged. "Let me be that somewhere."

"Why, baby? Aren't I enough?" The blonde fluttered his eyelashes. "Why have a novice when you can have an _expert_?"

"Take off, Jeremiah," Shelby said. "Let the grownups do business."

He narrowed his peepers and pursed his lips. "Fine. Try to remember to forget me," he spat, walking back into the crowd. The smoke from dubious cigarettes rose up around him and stole him from view.

She looked at the boy on stage and looked at me. "Sweet little number, isn't he? Nice face. Nice voice."

"Like a bird," I whispered, my eyes fixed.

"Hey, I like that. Maybe that's what'll call him. The Blackbird." She bounced on her heels and tapped a nail to my chest. "Okay. Okay. You want him but you're not the only one." She kicked a thumb behind her. "Ryerson's being chewing the bit since I brought him in."

"What's he offered you?"

She told me. "Think you can top that, Rockerfeller?"

I smiled.

"Get me a room and a drink. In that order. And then send the kid in."

* * *

I sipped at the glass as dainty as a woman donning a Parisian glove. My eyes crawled over the room. Maroon and rouge décor, a café-au-lait rug, angular furniture in light wood, a box mirror over the dressing-table and a long fluorescent lamp over the mirror. It was a perfectly nice room. And the moment I had Kurt, I was going to burn it the ground.

The bed was soft beneath me and I tried to push the images of Kurt in it away. To stop dreaming of bruised lips and soft sighs. To not think about what would have happened if Artie hadn't passed me that card. About who would be sitting here waiting for Kurt Hummel if I had been too late.

The door snipped open and he finally padded in. His head was down but I saw the red in his pale cheeks. A trembling ran through his body like a live wire in the rain. Shelby had dressed him to impress in a silky little number that was fighting with his skin to host his bone. Maroon and rouge. If he stayed still I'd lose him.

Not looking at me he went to the dresser, saw the cut glass decanter, took the stopper out and poured a whiskey.

"I wouldn't if I was you," I said. My voice throwing him to the ceiling. "Shelby will have slipped you a Mickey Finn. In case you had a change of heart."

"S..sorry," he stammered, his back still to me.

"She told you it would ease your nerves. Make this easier on you. She told you to make sure it was the first thing you did."

"Don't be silly." His voice was higher than usual. "I'm not nervous. I _want_ to be here. With you." He looked into a mirror with a smile that promised the world and with eyes that wanted to flee it.

And froze.

"Blaine?" he whispered. "Is that you?"

"It ain't Slim Summerville."

Slowly he turned and blinked comically. But no one was laughing. "How?"

"The front door?" I rose from the bed and walked towards him. "Same as you."

"I thought you were dead!" I leaned past him and placed the glass on the dresser. I tried not to savor the closeness. Or think about how the gown was thinner than air. "I woke up and you were gone! And then _they_ were there and they were trying to get in!" There was barely breath between each word. "I just ran. I got out the fire escape and…"

"Kurt." I gripped his shoulder. "It's okay. Calm down." I nearly fell through the carpet to the room below at the force that he flung himself into my arms.

"I didn't know where to go. I didn't know what to do," he sobbed into my shoulder. My arms enveloped him and I brought my hands to his hair, bringing his face to the crook of my neck. I felt the wet of his despair and winced. He was too close. He smelled too good. And I wanted him too much. "I remembered Shelby. We'd met a few months back. She'd heard me sing and gave me her card. I knew what this place was. I knew what went on here."

"And you came anyway?"

"What else could I do?" He pushed himself backwards and stared down into my face. He was taller. I'd never noticed before. Or maybe I had, and had blamed it on account of the pedestal I'd perched him on. "Money! If I could just get enough…"

"You'd what? Buy Jesse off? Make this disappear? I hate to break it to you, Kurt. But that's the last thing you'd get in this joint. Any other night and any other man and they would have had you. And then you wouldn't care what they did to you as long as you got some nectar for being a good boy."

"I'm not a blushing ingénue, Blaine," he snapped. "I knew what I was getting into."

I wanted to back hand some sense into him. I wanted to go downstairs and wrap my hands round the throat of anyone who had ever looked at him. I wanted to start with Ryerson and work my way back to Karofsky. Instead my fingers found his cheekbone, my thumb stealing a tear. "No, you didn't."

His face crumpled "Everything is such a mess! I don't know what to do, Blaine. Tell me what to do?"

I kissed him.

For a moment he hung there like a feather in the wind, but then his hands snaked up to my shoulders and he was kissing back. "Oh," he murmured in surprise against my lips. It was like a gun to a sprinter and there was no going back. The more he gave the more I wanted. And he had plenty to give. We clung to each other like a tornado raged through the bedroom, threatening to separate us. He broke away, momentarily. "Blaine," he whispered slowly, breathlessly, _"Blaine,_" like the sough of the ocean. He lent forward, his eyes closed. My mind chose then to wander back and see what my body had got up to in its absence. It wasn't happy.

"Kurt, no," I gripped his shoulders to push him away, but they betrayed me and drew him closer. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have…I'm sorry!"

"Why not?" he gasped, his lips puffy and drawing mine back like a magnet.

"I need to keep you safe!"

"I don't want to be _safe_, Blaine!" His arms tightened around my waist as he pulled my mouth against his. He held our lips together as he turned his head, kissing me again and again as he rocked his hips against me. "I don't _need_ to be safe. Not from you," he breathed against my lips before running his tongue lightly across them.

With a groan, I put my arms around him and opened my mouth to his. As his tongue slid into my mouth with insistent passion, I thrust up against him. He moaned softly in reply and rocked against me, rubbing our groins together.

My mind could go to hell.

One hand slid down his back to pull him even more tightly against me. The other went to tangle in his dark hair. He withdrew one of his own from my face to grip that hand. Slowly, inexorably, he drew them down to where our arousals pressed and throbbed against one another.

Groaning in need, I spun us round and walked him backwards to the bed. Wrapping my arms around him and falling backward into the mattress as his lips met mine. He broke the kiss, and tore Artie's suit from me like it was aflame, then hurriedly ripped off his flimsy gown and flung it from the bed. He went for my mouth again but I dodged it. I wanted to see. I _needed_ to see.

For a moment all I could do was stare down at him. This lovely boy that had came into my life as a black and white photograph and stolen every beat of my heart since. "God, you're beautiful."

He smiled up at me almost shyly, his hands rising to my chest. Like the rest of him, they were lovely. They trailed softly over my skin. Tender over the newly blossoming bruises. They travelled south. His palms flattened over my ribcage, fingertips caressing the small valleys between my ribs as his eyes took it all in. They saw all messages of St. James men, all the battle wounds, all the life.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, a sheen in his eyes. But I shook my head.

"Don't bring _them_ in here. Not in here with us."

Blue fires cooled and muted to storm-tossed seas. "Touch me," he sighed. "Please."

My fingers found his chest and rubbed over his nipples almost reverently causing him to arch upward into the touch. He broke away, licking along my jaw, teeth nibbling at my ear lobe. "Blaine," he breathed. As his lips dusted my collar bone I fought to keep control, but it had been so long and I needed him so badly. I was drowning and he was dry land.

With an inarticulate groan, I took his erection in hand as he did the same with mine. I gasped then, breaking our kiss again, as he gripped me tightly and stroked, long and hard. Holding back a moan, my head dropped back against his shoulder. Kurt turned his cheek to rest against my hair to as he pumped his hand faster, rocking his hips harder against mine.

The feel of his skin against mine, the heat of him in hand, the dizzying pleasure of his hand stroking me, the sweet gasping of his breath in my ear. It was all too much. The wonderful pressure built fast within me and, with an ecstatic shudder it was free. With a sound that may have been my name, his completion soon followed mine. With a sound that was definitely _his _name, I slipped my arms around him, my chin digging into the warmth of his neck. I held him tight. I swore to keep him safe.

* * *

"Well, isn't this touching?" My eye creaked open from its slumber and Bryan filled my vision. I shot up but cold metal stopped the movement. It pressed deep into the crown of my head and I cursed softly.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked sleepily from my side and I heard him gasp in surprise. "Blaine!"

"Keep down, Mary. And you'll both breeze out of here with a pair of matching pulses."

I tried to see my captor from the corner of my eye but he was shy. I focused on Bryan instead. "You," I said simply as Kurt burrowed himself into my side. I felt his skin breathing against mine in terror. I tried to stop mine joining his.

He looked at Shelby and grinned. "The boss will be happy about this. You did good. Real good."

She gave a nod and looked to the left. She was cold but she wasn't ice. She knew she'd just signed our death warrants.

"St. James. He owns this place now, doesn't he?" I asked, not bothering for an answer. "He owns everywhere."

"And you both walked straight in. That was right decent of you. Saving us the bother," he sneered politely. "How about you two get yourself acquainted with clothes? I hear they're all the rage."

I wasn't listening. Even Kurt's soft sobs behind me had faded into an indistinct hum under the roar in my head. My eyes had found the mirror. My eyes had found the gunman.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," Sam Evans said. "I'm just so sorry."


	7. Chapter 7

The Lost Nightingale  
Chapter 7

Bryan shoved me hard through the door and I turned with a glare. "What's wrong, Daisy? Am I too rough for you?"

"Why not leave that an open question?" I turned to Sam. "This is what you want? This the road you want to go down? The gutter not low enough for you now?"

"I haven't got any other choice, Blaine. I'm just trying to get by."

"You really are a nasty little person, aren't you?"

"It's a nasty little world. I'm just trying to live in it"

"What happened to taking it back? What happened to that?" Bryan gave me another hard push and I struggled to keep on my feet.

Sam's fingers were tight against the shoulder of Kurt as he led him in, the boy shivering in his flimsy dressing gown as he found my eyes. He shook his head tearfully at me.

_I'm sorry._ I wanted to say. _I'm so sorry._

"Why don't you keep that mush shut?" Bryan said. "We didn't bring you here for your anecdotes.

"Get your damn mitts off me," I said through gritted teeth. He threw a punch into my gut and tried to tickle my tonsils with his knuckles. I fell forward, my face hitting the floor before my knees. I rolled onto my back.

"Welcome back. Anderson." Jesse called from the sky. "And you brought a gift?" I sat up, the pain in my stomach screaming as I did. "I have one of my own."

We followed his gaze and saw a tall man wrapped around his own frame. Someone had worked him over good and not left much for tourists.

"Finn!" Kurt moved to the figure like a knife through butter and Sam let him go. "Oh, my God, Finn!"

Hudson didn't react. Hudson didn't move. Hudson just stared down at his hands. His hands that had been twisted beyond all recognition.

"Finn was telling us he's a beat man. In a little rockabilly band back home," Jesse shrugged. "Wait? I suppose that's past tense now."

Kurt's arms encircled the boy and he pressed a kiss to his head. He stared up at St. James with eyes that knew only hate. "He didn't know anything!"

"About _anything_," St. James scoffed. "You're right about that. You gave us some trouble, Nightingale. You wasted a lot of people's time. And your brother paid for it."

"Finn," Kurt whispered into the boy's hair. "It's okay, it's okay."

"Kurt?" he asked in a dry, chipped voice. "That you?" He gave a gasp. "They kept asking, they kept pushing and pushing. From the moment I got into town. I didn't know! I didn't know!"

"Shh," Kurt soothed, rocking in his arms. "Don't say anything. There's nothing to say."

I looked around the room. The whole gang was here. Karofsky and Bryan stood over the brothers. Karofsky with a sour expression, his fingers tapping impatiently at his thigh. Nervous. Highly strung. Carl was at my side with his hands on his piece and his eyes on me. They were all wired. But if I could get a gun, if I could get _my_ gun from Sam. I could try. At the very least I could take a few of them with us.

"Halt those thoughts, Cagney." St. James moved over to me and tapped my forehead. "I'm closing this book once and for all."

"Is it worth it? They're only clubs. They're nothing. They aren't worth _killing_ for!"

"You wouldn't understand. What it takes to be the best. To be the _only_. Why would you? You're a phony. A nothing," he said in the cheery tone of a man discussing the weather with the neighbors. "You're cheap all over and all the way through. You ain't got the guts, the savvy or intelligence to even be sitting here with me. You got lucky and you slipped through the net, but they were nothing but flukes. This time no one leaves this room until the job is done." He knelt down in front of me, tossing the gun back and forth like it was no more than a childhood ball. My eyes followed it from palm to palm. "Where's Rachel?"

We'd played this game before. I smiled.

"It doesn't matter. I could pull that boy over here and put holes in every part of that pretty skin you love so much. I could break _his_ fingers, too. And you could watch." He smiled happily at the horror on my face. "I'd enjoy it. But you're too much trouble. All of you. And the sooner you're out the picture, the better." He stood up and swung the gun on his index finger. "I'll find her. Sooner or later. No one runs out on me. No one." He turned on his heel. "Karofsky?"

The lug nearly blew over. "What?" He came over, all shuffling feet and downcast eyes. "I mean, yeah?"

St. James passed Karofsky the gun. "Waste the brothers Grimm."

"What?"

"You heard me. I'm tired of this. I have a business to run. Waste them."

Behind him Kurt gave a little gasp and pulled Finn to him even closer. Karofsky stared down at the metal in his hands like it had just grown out of his palm. Woodenly he faced the cowering two.

"Don't!" I begged. Rachel's location was on my lips, but I left them there. This wasn't about her. It wouldn't save them. Nothing would save them. "Sam! Please?"

Sam gulped audibly and stared down at the floor. He shook his blonde head and I hated him more than I had hated anyone in my life.

"Don't worry, Blaine. You'll get your turn next," St James said coming behind me and placing the juggling gun at my head. "But with me at the helm. I just want to send you out in the right mood. That's all."

Karofsky walked like a man to the gallows and raised the rod. He pressed it to Kurt's forehead. My heart ran up to my throat and all my breath left me. I wanted to scream his name. But all I could was watch.

The gun wavered and dipped its head shyly.

"Karofsky? I wasn't _asking_," St. James said. "I told you to dust him."

"I... He won't talk. I promise you." Karofsky looked to him with moons for eyes. "We could keep him here? Keep him quiet."

"You sweet on him?" St. James fingers clenched into my shoulder and the roscoe burrowed deeper into my neck. "Is that it?"

"I aint no queer!"

"Prove it." The challenge was tossed out and left on the floor. All Karofsky had to do was pick it up.

The gun got over its meekness and rose into the air once more.

"Please," Kurt whispered like air upon silk. "Please, Dave."

The room fell silent and the moments crawled by. My heart began to beat against my chest like a diesel train, as I willed him to drop it and St. James willed him to shoot.

"No!" Karofsky gave a noise like an animal in pain and lowered the piece. "I can't! I just can't!

"Fine!" St James spat shoving me forward onto my face. "_I'll_ do it!"

I quickly pushed myself up onto my elbows but Carl handled it. "Down boy."

"No!" Karofsky stepped in front of the two. "I... I don't want you to."

St. James laughed in genuine amusement. "Are you serious? Oh, you _are_. That's precious!" He shook his head. "I thought you wanted to be big. Thought you had what it takes."

"Not like this. Not this way." Karofsky shook his head. He turned the gun on the approaching man. "Look! Just stay back!"

"Please. Only one of us has the steel to fire. And we both know you're too light in the wrist to do anything." St. James kept moving.

"Shut up!"

"Come on, Ramon Novarro. Just drop that toy. Before you hurt yourself." He must have made a mistake. He must have darted his eyes because Karofsky caught something. Something that was happening behind him.

"No!" Karofsky spun round and emptied lead into the advancing Bryan's chest. The two fought for a moment to who was most suprised. Karofsky won on the account Bryan didn't finish the race. He hit the floor and threw out a final breath.

"Oh! _Him_ you'll shoot?" St. James drawled.

Kurt jumped up, going for Karofsky's gun and the Finn made a snatch for his wrist. Howling in pain as his battered fingers closed around the other boy. "Kurt! No!"

With a glance to the side I saw Carl was shocked, distracted by the scene before him. My cue was here and I took it. I got up, ran at St. James my arms around his waist and my face in his back. The gun fled his grip and he immediately began to writhe and fight beneath me. The back of his head hit the front of my teeth and my world filled with pain. Bucking me off, he made for the errant gun. I followed, gripping at his shirt and tugging in desperation.

Behind me I heard another struggle, another fight, I heard shots fire. But I only had Jesse St. James in my sights. His hands had the rod now, and he gave a savage kick backwards, heel to my button. It flew me backward and St. James was on me introducing the rod to my chest. "Nice try, Anderson." He laughed the sound manic and as sane as Frances Farmer. "Nice try!"

I swallowed and waited. I heard Kurt's scream. I heard my heart ready to beat out of my chest. I heard the hurried footsteps and St. James' cry of frustration as hands tore manically at his own. I heard the gun fire.

I saw Sam fall.

_No!_ I kicked out in a rage and St. James gave a roar. His gun gone his fingers found my throat and he began to squeeze. My fingers clawed at his and my mind tried to push back the darkness that was flowing through it. I was losing and the dark was winning.

Another shot ran out and the room froze. St. James' hands loosened and he stared at something above me, behind me. "You?"

The question wasn't answered. He slumped over me, his life bleeding out over my chest. I shoved him off and breathed painfully. Choking and spluttering, I scrambled to my feet.

"Oh, Kurt," I mourned in a hoarse voice. He stood before me as still as Lincoln in Washington. Pale and shivery, with blue eyes wide, tears afresh and his soft pink mouth parted in shock. In his lovely hands he held a smoking gun.

"Is he dead?" he asked. "_Is he_?"

"Yes," I said flatly, limping towards him. He started as my hand took the gun and I placed a hand to his cheek. "You're okay. You're okay."

I pulled him to me and buried his face into the crook of my neck, raising the gun at Carl, who stood holding his shoulder, red seeping through the parting in his fingers. "Go. Before I change my mind."

He licked his lips and nodded, his eyes scanning the room. It was a lot to take in. Two lay dead. Karofsky was rocking back and forth staring down at Bryan. The line he had never wanted to cross finally taken from him. Carl had seen enough. He turned tail and ran.

"Go see Finn." I wasn't worried about Karofsky. Not at the moment. I gently pushed Kurt away and made my way over to my ex-partner, picking my gun up as I went. It was hot. It looked like Sam had been the one to give Carl a medal.

Dropping to my knees, I tried to keep the hysteria at bay. The doors were hammering and the wood was weak. I wouldn't last long. I curled him up into my arms. "Did I take it back?" he asked, as red decorated his lips. A red that now matched his hair.

"Yeah," I choked at his soft smile. "You did."

"Good. That's good." Sam stared up at me with wet eyes. "I wish..."

But then Sam was looking into a place none of us could see. Because Sam Evans was gone.

* * *

"Blaine?" I looked up at the sweet voice in my doorway. "You weren't at your apartment. I thought I might find you here."

"Hello, Kurt," I smiled and got up from the desk. It had only been four days but it had felt like a lifetime. "How…" I shrugged. "How are you?"

"Nightmares," he said simply. "But they'll go. In time."

"And Finn?"

"The same. The doctors say the bones in his fingers will heal just fine. That'll take time, too. I guess it will all take time." A hand edged out and brushed at something only he could see on my lapel. "I'm not sorry, you know? About Jesse?"

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Kurt."

"Did… Karofsky do what he said he would?" His eyes darted to the side as his mouth struggled to form the words. "With the bodies."

"They're gone. And Karofsky won't talk. He has more to lose."

"And Sam?"

"I took care of Sam. I owed him that." I'd taken him home. I'd put him to bed and laid Jesses cleaned gun at his hand. The initial reports were saying suicide. I guess in a way it was. The bullet had been fired a long time ago. It had just taken this long to hit.

"Are you okay? I know he was your friend."

I gave a tight smile. "In the end. Yes, he was."

He looked at me wordlessly for a moment, so fragile and sweet my hand rose again and reached for him. "I'm leaving." My hand froze.

"Oh."

"Finn is downstairs in a cab. I need to take him home. My parents, you see…"

"You don't need to explain, Kurt. You _should_ be with your family."

"Ask me to stay?" He stepped closer. "Just ask."

I shook my head and the weight hurt. "No, I can't do that. It's too dangerous. I don't think anyone will miss Jesse St. James, but if anyone does I can't risk the trail leading to you."

"You said yourself that Karofsky won't say anything? He'll send himself to the chair if he does. No one will ever know."

"I won't take that chance. Not with you. Your family need you, Kurt."

"I need _you_!" His eyes darted frantically. "You could come?"

I winced and turned away, shoving my hands in my pockets. "I don't think I'm cut out for small time life, Kurt." He stepped up behind me, pressing his stomach to my back and wrapping an arm around my waist, his breath layering the flesh of my neck. "I can't leave this town, Kurt. As corrupt, dirty and seedy as it may be it's all I know. I'm it and it's me. I wouldn't know how to be anything else."

"You're too _scared_ to be anything else." The words were accusing, the voice understanding.

"Terrified," I agreed. "But when you land wherever you going send me a postcard. Maybe one day the wizard will give me some guts?"

"Well, he already gave you that heart." He placed a finger to my chin and tilted my head towards him, pressing his lips to mine and I kissed hungrily back. I wished he'd stay, I wished that we had met under different circumstances. I wished for a miracle.

"I could maybe come back?" he said, breaking the kiss with a hopeful grin. "Some day. When all of this has died down?"

"I'd like that," I smiled. "And fetch Finn. I have a girl I'd like to introduce him to. She could do with a nice guy in her life."

I let him go, my hand travelling down to his. The two encircled one another for a fragile moment, and then they parted. I could hear the sorrow in my fingers.

"Goodbye, Blaine," he said walking backwards to the door, tears in his eyes. I nodded and he smiled once more, a smile that would fill my dreams for a thousand nights and then he turned, walked across the floor and out.

I watched the door close. I listened to his steps growing faint against the imitation marble floor until they were gone. I waited awhile until I judged he had reached the street and then went to the window. I watched through the gaps of the blind as he made his way down the sidewalk, that winding river of grey yawning into a sky as blue as his eyes. He stopped at the corner, shielded his gaze from the sun and stared up at my office. I like to pretend he could see me. I smiled sadly and touched the glass.

As he turned again I pulled the shutters closed and saw him no more.

**The End**

* * *

**AN- Thank you for reading! There is a sequel to this, please let me know if you'd like it uploaded. :)**


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